The Blagojevich Trial Through Normal Eyes (part 3)

Unlike every court show I’ve ever seen, Hamilton does not approach her witness. She stands at the prosecution table and sits in the first “pew” by the media when the tape plays. Everyone refers to playing the tape as “publishing” it. The tape plays in 15-minute intervals and/or the length of the call. I keep thinking to myself, “Rod, don’t you hear the popping?!” Every 30 seconds or so, there’s a bubble-wrap “pop” that even Monica Lewinsky could hear when Linda Tripp taped her. What are really eerie are the long pauses between Blago and Harris. Are they using the john? Googling?

(Hottie, R)

I’m ashamed to feel so freaking bored already. As far as I can see, Rod isn’t doing anything newsworthy. (Thanks to Zagel, there are no histrionics coming from Blago.) He follows the transcript along with everyone else. Dunder Mifflin could stay in the black thanks to these people. Everyone, from the jury, to the counselors, to various court staffers have a giant black binder with thousands of pages. “What do you understand he was saying to you there?” “What do you take his meaning to be there?” “Who is he referring to?” Lots of questions like that, line by line by line. John Harris is quite the good sport; I would’ve turned on the snark an hour ago with all the dissection of fairly obvious statements. I’ll save you the trouble by telling you this goes on for HOURS.

The courtroom looks like 80’s Corporate America walked in and vomited there. The walls are relentlessly harsh brown wooden panels. The judge’s bench, witness stand, jury box, counsel tables, and pews match the smooth walls. Everyone is sitting in black, wheeled executive chairs. Blago’s lawyer, Sam Adam Sr, takes full advantage of the chair’s leaning capabilities, as he looks as bored as I am. The ceiling is a black grating that shows the banks of fluorescent tubes above it. The only “decorations” are a simple (plastic-looking) black&white district court seal above Zagel and a US flag leaning in the corner. Clearly, my mind is wandering at this point.

We get an objection! It’s barely whispered. I can’t even tell who said it, Sam Adam Jr? No reason for the objection is given. It’s overruled as quietly and quickly as it is given. Sam Jr totally looks like a brotha in person. I wonder if he’s mixed like me…

Some dude leaves the gallery. I don’t blame him. Carrie’s questioning is very dry and businesslike. She’s not selling to the jury at all. God bless ‘em, they’re paying attention, taking notes, following in their binders like real troopers. They should be paid their weight in beer. Thankfully, Judge Zagel grants a 15-minute break.

All the wimmins head straight for the restroom, which is promptly full. I perform calisthenics in the powder room. Even Patti heads over, but takes a u-turn. I give her a “don’t you hate it when your husband is busted in a federal trial?” smile. No reaction from her; I don’t think she was expecting it. I see the prosecutrix (right, in her NYTimes engagement picture), Carrie Hamilton , totally cracking up about something out in the hall. That’s more like it! One of the defense staffers checks the soccer score for us: US leading Algeria 1-0. Back in the courtroom, Blago works the crowd a little. Patti is swaddled in another sweater; he offers her his jacket… then he offers his attorney Sheldon Sorosky’s jacket. I’m sorry, but P&R are just plain cute. Despite all their money-grubbing crap, there hasn’t been a peep about infidelity or other marital shenanigans.

We get back to the tapes and their subsequent dissection with John Harris. I can’t think about anything but chicken salad. At least I get to listen to the Famous Tapes. I wonder if they’ve played “Fucking Golden” yet. I should throw confetti when they do. The tapes are quite cussy. All of Blago’s f-bombs play, uncensored. Hee, I get to hear my governor say Fuck.

There are more unticketed members of the public stuffed into the gallery. I guess you can get lucky even if you don’t show up at 7am. One of the turban ladies is at the end of my row. While the entire courtroom is silent, except for all the frantic note-taking, turban lady lets out a few “mm-hmms.” I can see 2 court artists, one working in marker, t’other in color pencil. Not to besmirch their awesome work, but their illustrations are a little off. The courtroom looks more palatable. One picture puts Blago practically next to Harris, even though they’re on diagonal corners of the room.